


Minor delay on the M40

by doomed_spectacles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Big married energy here, Bittersweet, Blow Jobs in a Car, Car Sex, Caterer Crowley, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Missing Scene, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), So Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have to pull off the road to properly process the realization that the last eleven years of their lives have been spent hovering over the wrong boy.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 123





	Minor delay on the M40

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous caterer!Crowley content, what can I say. This takes place directly after the "No dog/wrong boy" scene.
> 
> I don't typically write smut and I didn't bother to have this britpicked or betaed so please be kind.

“Well that went down like a-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, “force of habit.”

Crowley pulled the Bentley out of the Dowling Estate as quickly as he was able, trying not to gaze at all the high-end vehicles belonging to party-goers as he passed. Now was not the time to get distracted. And he’d always suspected that his car knew somehow. Like she could tell when his eyes roamed over the sleek lines of a vintage Jaguar and might one day eject him from his seat over it.

“It’s not a force of habit,” said Aziraphale. “You said it once.” He was licking the cream cake off his hands absent-mindedly in a way that made the little curves of skin under his chin bunch up under that ridiculous ascot. Crowley wanted to rip it off him.

He replied in a series of syllables that would get his irritation across without actually forcing him to come up with words to express it. Aziraphale would know.

They drove more or less silently onto the main road to London. Crowley’s knee bounced with a nervous energy he had trouble channeling. There was too much traffic for him to really let loose. And he’d have to deal with a fussy angel if he did.

“Will you stop that?”

“What?”

“Your leg,” said Aziraphale. “It’s bouncing all over the place. It’s distracting.”

Crowley grinned, showing every crooked tooth he could. “Is my leg _distracting_ you, Aziraphale?” His voice was dripping with honey. He set out the trap, looking for any flies that might be in the area. “I am terribly sorry to _distract_ you. My _wiles_ , you know, they’re practically automatic at this point.”

He spread his legs as much as possible in the limited space available while still operating the vehicle. She mostly drove herself but tended to complain if he didn’t at least pretend to hover his foot over the accelerator.

“We’ve just found out our efforts for the last eleven years have been for naught and you are-”

“I’m what?”

“You’re being distracting!” Aziraphale’s voice was a high-pitched whine. It was the sort of whine Crowley couldn’t abide because it was tinged with fear. He could abide Aziraphale’s whines but only if he was the cause of them.

Crowley pulled off the road into a patch of dirt that found itself leveling out nicely to welcome the Bentley’s tires. All the sat-navs in all the vehicles headed towards London suddenly decided that a seldom-used side road was much more convenient than continuing on the M40.

They sat in a charged silence as the world turned around them, slowly onward towards Armageddon.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Crowley said at last. He didn’t look at Aziraphale. He couldn’t stand to see those eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. He couldn’t face the possibility that they’d failed.

“No? Wasn’t it? Crowley?” Aziraphale shifted towards him, facing him in the cramped space of the passenger seat.

“No. It wasn’t. We tried, Aziraphale, and we’re going to keep trying.” Crowley kept his hands on the wheel and blew out a breath. He said the words and tried to make them true. “We’re not going to give up.”

He was done for the moment he faced Aziraphale. With a smear of cake on his cheek and that ridiculous curly drawn-on mustache, he looked at Crowley with a mixture of fondness and despair that Crowley was desperate to erase.

He said, “And it wasn’t a waste, because I got to see you murder an entire field of tulips. In cold blood.”

Aziraphale’s forehead was still wrinkled with worry but he chuckled.

“You fixed it for me.”

“And then you did it _again_ , angel.”

A slow smile.

“That’s not nothing.”

Aziraphale swallowed and Crowley watched his Adam’s apple bounce. His ascot was coming undone. Crowley wanted to pull it with his teeth, had wanted to wrap his hands in the loose folds of that fabric since Aziraphale had gotten in the car. He’d never tell him, but the bastard probably knew. The slightest change in Aziraphale’s wardrobe had Crowley keyed up, like Pavlov’s dog hearing a bell. 

“I got to see you in that dress,” Aziraphale said in a low voice. His eyes met Crowley’s and smiles blossomed slowly on both their faces.

“You did,” Crowley replied. “As I recall, you also got to take it off me a few times.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips in a coy smile that lasted approximately two seconds before Crowley crushed it in a bruising kiss. Their mouths slid together, sloppy and urgent. In between kisses, they whispered each other’s names and held each other’s faces. Aziraphale’s hand stroked his upper thigh, getting higher with each movement until he was tracing the outline of the bulge in Crowley’s trousers.

“Let’s get these off you, my dear.” Aziraphale searched for the zip on his trousers, then set his mouth in a line as he encountered the obstacle of his jacket, shirt, and the rest of his caterer’s uniform. “Is this a cumberbund?”

Crowley leaned forward in the seat to let Aziraphale get at the straps. His cock was hard and trapped awkwardly in his trousers, so he wiggled to try and relieve the pressure. “Yeah, well, all of them were wearing them,” he said. “I had to fit in.”

“They were not, actually, darling,” Aziraphale said, pulling at the straps on his black sash until he finally gave up and tugged on it hard enough to pull the entire thing around Crowley’s waist. “Only _you_.”

“Ow!”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale sat back and admired the view. Crowley looked down; He was in quite a state, with his cock jutting out of his tight black trousers, his white jacket flayed open and the bottom buttons of his shirt undone, exposing his navel. He watched Aziraphale’s eyes traveling along the line of hair at the base of his groin. He bucked his hips up a little, just to tease him.

Aziraphale licked his lips. Then a gleam appeared in his eyes that Crowley recognized. It was the gleam of an angel about to do something wicked. A little whine rose from his throat at the thought.

Aziraphale reached out and caressed the knot on the thin black tie he’d worn. Aziraphale’s delicately plump fingers swirled around the head of the black fabric, just barely ghosting over the swell. He kept his eyes on Crowley’s, all the while stroking his tie.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, desperate for his touch.

Aziraphale grabbed a fistful of the tie and yanked Crowley forward, crushing their mouths together. Crowley moaned and let himself be forced back in the seat, allowing Aziraphale to thrust his tongue inside. He took him in, breathing in the heady scents of Aziraphale: His pine-scented hair oil, applied especially thick this morning to make his hair stand up; cake, still smeared on his jacket; his aftershave, that had changed a bit recently to a floral scent that Crowley was still getting used to.

When he was done kissing him, Aziraphale pushed him back into the seat with a firm hand. He held Crowley’s cock steady and swallowed his entire length, down to the hilt. The sensation of the angel’s warm mouth taking him in so suddenly made him squawk in a way he should have found humiliating. But then Aziraphale began to move, sucking him earnest, and he no longer cared about anything at all except the pull of Aziraphale’s lips along his shaft and the little pleased noises that escaped from his full mouth.

Aziraphale held the base of Crowley’s cock firmly in his fist, squeezing in time with the bobbing of his head. All Crowley could do was hold his head with one hand and the Bentley’s door with the other, riding the wave of pleasure coursing through him. He ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s fluffy hair, mussing it, knowing he’d look a wreck when he came up for air and loving the thought of it.

Crowley came with a jolt when Aziraphale pressed his tongue firmly against the head of his cock, lapping at him while he moved. He cried out in a wordless expression of pleasure and surprise and relief. Aziraphale would know.

Aziraphale kept his mouth on him, waiting until he was completely spent before pulling back. When he did, his lips were shiny and red. His tongue darted out to clean a spot of Crowley’s come off his upper lip, smudging the thin pencil line of his faux mustache. He looked at Crowley, smug.

“Better?”

Instead of answering, Crowley pulled him into a kiss, tasting his own come and cream cake and the essence of _Aziraphale_ that had never ceased to drive him mad. He kept kissing Aziraphale while he opened the angel’s button fly and pulled him out of his trousers. Crowley stroked Aziraphale to full hardness, not bothering to tease him like he usually would. Aziraphale moaned into his mouth and bucked his hips eagerly.

Crowley shifted in his seat to get a better grip. He twisted in a way that was only possible due to some questionable anatomical choices on the part of Hell’s corporation department but that allowed him to face Aziraphale in the cramped front seat of his car. He grabbed the back of Aziraphale’s neck and set a frantic pace with his other hand, snapping a bit of miracled lube onto his palm. Aziraphale was gripping the dash the same way he did when Crowley sped through traffic, darting in between passenger vehicles and buses with manic glee.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said, low in his ear. Their faces were pressed together and a sheen of sweat was starting to form on Aziraphale’s lower lip. It threatened to smear the marker mustache even further across his face. He panted in Crowley’s ear. “Come on, angel, I can’t keep traffic stalled forever.”

Aziraphale huffed. His little thrusts into Crowley’s hands didn’t stop but he said, “Very romantic, dear.”

Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s cock. He ran his thumb over the head, pressing down lightly, just to tease him. The air in the Bentley smelled of sex with desperation layered on top, and a hint of the cream cake staining Aziraphale’s coat.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley said again. “Come for me.” He bit down on Aziraphale’s ear, then sucked on the lobe. The angel let out a moan and thrust his hips even harder into Crowley’s hand. “Come on, so I can wipe that ridiculous marker off your face.”

“You’re awful,” Aziraphale whispered. His eyes were closed, so Crowley took the opportunity to study his pretty long lashes and the delicate creases of skin at the edges. Aziraphale was old, not in human terms, but in the way it sometimes showed on his skin. The way Crowley was sure it showed on his own. He wanted to kiss the outside of Aziraphale’s eyes until they both turned to dust, but they wouldn’t. They were around until the end.

Crowley pulled him into a filthy, sweaty kiss. Aziraphale tasted like come and cake and the buildup of eleven years gone to waste in an instant. He drew Aziraphale’s tongue into his mouth, letting him taste whatever it was about Crowley that had gotten him here. Whatever it was about Crowley that made him moan into it, his cock pulsing in Crowley’s slippery hands.

They separated, both panting. Crowley’s wrist was starting to ache from furiously jerking off his beloved enemy. “Come on angel,” he said in a low growl, one he knew would have an effect. It was the growl he used when he said all the things he didn’t mean and let his voice give away all the things he did. “Come so we can open that bottle of single-malt in the back of the shop.”

That did it. Aziraphale came with a broken groan, spilling hot liquid all over Crowley’s fist and— 

“Shit, the upholstery,” said Crowley, scrambling for the kerchief in Aziraphale’s pocket. The angel was too blissed to notice him pull it out and delicately wrap his softening penis in the tartan fabric, saving the seat from a stain he’d always know was there.

The silence in the cab was not quite a relaxing afterglow, as the sound of traffic resumed around them and reality reappeared. The Bentley had always been a bubble, not quite safe, but not exactly the outside world. Heaven and Hell existed here but so did music. Speed. Destinations to be arrived at, together. Confessions.

Crowley snapped them back into their usual attire and pulled back into traffic, not bothering to look. After a moment, he said, “Scotch. Really? That’s what did it for you?”

Aziraphale had the decency to look chagrined. “It’s very good scotch.”

“Do you know I once spent twenty years setting up the logistics of an assignment for Downstairs?” Crowley said, shaking his head. “Twenty years. And all I had to do to get you off was whisper _Lagavulin_ in your ear.”

“Don’t gloat, Crowley, it’s unseemly.”

“Unseemly? A demon, unseemly? Perish the thought.” He maneuvered the Bentley around a lorry by bending the laws of physics just a little. “Could’ve saved myself thousands of years of trouble if I’d known.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply. He just patted Crowley’s knee sympathetically, then clutched the dash as the car went up on two wheels to slink between the guardrail and a slow-moving Toyota.

“You know, if I never have to see you torment that rabbit again, it’ll be too soon.”

“You won’t have to, because _never_ will be here soon enough. Then neither of us will be seeing anything because there won’t be anything left to see.” The tightness in Aziraphale’s voice had returned, strained from holding back an ancient fear.

“Right.”

Neither spoke as Crowley drove Aziraphale back home, to the soothing sounds of Mozart’s _These are the days of our lives._ Just outside London, Aziraphale rested his hand lightly on Crowley’s thigh and left it there for the remainder of the trip. Neither mentioned it.

\--


End file.
